When the lights go down on the city…

March 20, 2007 8:28am

Early morning reflects its most boastful of glories in the enormous waterfall glass panes that make up my little coffee shop windows. The sun spots all through my eyes, yesterday’s rain ignored the forecast and stuck around, only clinging now to the bricks and steel beams and car mirrors that all take turns moving in and out and between eachother to make up our big grand experience.

A man in a blue suit, not quite navy, with a lighter blue shirt on, comes in counting quarters and ordering “coffee.” That’s a rare bid in today’s Starbuck driven arabica reinvigoration. The coffee industry of our father’s risked drowning the business forever with its robusto beans, low quality, poor taste, bigger profits. But here in my swirling vanilla latte (skim) I can’t help but feel fine about the state of all affairs. Even if fair trade protesters threaten to halt my morning enjoyment every few weeks. But they’re on CNN or Current and I’m here, in the real life world where the man in the blue suit lets everyone know “I smoke cigars.” “When,” comes the owner from the back room, “when did you start smoking cigars?”

A woman in a much too heavy coat for this morning comes in. Tea for her. She has her own thermos but takes her drink in a to go cup anyway. The next guy, young, maybe my age but looks all the older with his attempt at growing out his bald head and wearing a nicer suit than his predecessor, he leans against the bar. I suspect he’s uncomfortable in his attire, probably starting a new job. He nods in response to an inquiry from the guy behind the bar and walks confidently, casually, toward the City Paper rack. Now that the woman has cleared out, he has no one to impress, and you can tell. He seems a lot more normal. I notice a girl who used to waitress at my favorite bar. I haven’t seen her there for awhile. She’s extremely thin, wrist bones like oversized ping pong balls thin, but somehow doesn’t seem anorexic. I wonder if having an attractive mother and sister has ruined me for ever being able to appreciate a woman who isn’t super attractive. The ex-waitress is wearing a really nice coat and dips into the back door of a business across the street. It looks like she’s moving up in the world.

Suddenly 8:30 rolls onto the clock and the streets team with commuters. In cars. On bikes. Walking. Some of them laugh and most of them look very tired and sternly serious on their way. Too few are smoking, I think. I’m glad for them.